


The Witch's Promise

by AstridMyrna



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Bedsharing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt Cassian Andor, Hurt/Comfort, Jyn is a witch, K-2SO is a familiar, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2020-10-10 22:43:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20535824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstridMyrna/pseuds/AstridMyrna
Summary: Deep in the woods live the witch Jyn Erso and her familiar Kaytu. While foraging in her woods she discovers an unconscious man who is beaten to an inch of his life, so she brings him home to heal him and learns his true name -- Cassian Andor. She secretly plans to cast a spell so that he will forget everything he learns while staying with her, but each day they spend together, she finds herself growing more attached despite Kaytu's warnings.





	1. Chapter 1

Jyn woke up before dawn, as she always did, to start a fire in the hearth in her little cottage. She cooked herself a quick breakfast of bacon and eggs, and toasted the last stale piece of bread in the remaining bacon fat. She wiped her hands on her apron that sorely needed a wash in the nearby river, then took out a dish and poured the last of her milk into it, placing it on the floor next to her bed. Her ash-gray cat, Kaytu, stretched from his place at the foot of her bed before plopping down for breakfast.

“What shall we do today?” asked the cat.

“Well, I’m running out of my favorite mushrooms, so I think I’ll go foraging today,” Jyn replied.

Jyn and Kaytu, as the reader must have suspected at this point, were not your normal single woman and her cat. Jyn was a witch, known as “Kestral Dawn” whenever she travelled to sell her healing potions and poultices or perform services for women that male physicians failed to provide. Kaytu was her familiar, and kept a vigilant eye out for her. He warned her whenever there was a witch hunter stalking her while she made her rounds, or if someone was following her back home. Even when foraging in the isolated woods he always had his ears and nose up for the occasional bandit or lost soul who might be wandering too close to the cottage. 

Jyn was wary, even though her home was buried so deep in the woods that it couldn’t be seen by the dirt highway that twisted around the belly of the mountain. The crisp air was bright and tangy from the scent of the conifers that made up most of the forest. Her shoes squelched through the mud during her search. Last night’s rain had coaxed the ferns to uncoil and the dittany bloom in heavy pink clumps. 

As she picked up handful after handful of mushrooms, Kaytu climbed up the nearest tree and sniffed the air, and the fur along his spine fluffed up.

“I smell human blood,” he growled from the pit of his throat.

Jyn stood up and breathed in the air freshly washed from last night’s rain, and she could taste iron. “I smell it too. Where is it coming from?”

“Follow me.”

Kaytu jumped down and darted under the forest cover of ivy and moss. Jyn ran after him, the hood of her brown cloak falling down and swaying with the wind. They ran to the edge of the forest, where the shards of sunlight grew stronger and the highway above was visible. They stopped in front of a wall of wild shrubbery that blocked their way forward. Kay sniffed along the bottom while Jyn jumped to catch a glimpse of what could be on the other side, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

“I found him, Jyn! Come quick!”

Jyn ran over to where Kaytu had stopped, his plush tail curling itself in excitement. Jyn picked up the skirt her dull gray frock and kneeled down into the mud. Hidden under the dark green brambles was the body of a man in his late twenties sprawled out, face-down in the mud. His dark brown hair and short beard were netted with dirt and twigs, a stripe of blood crusting along the hairline of his graying face. The back of his black jacket was torn, his tawny breeches were ripped, and he had somehow lost a boot. 

“I wonder how he got here,” Kaytu said.

“Mugged, probably. That highway is dangerous.”

“Unlucky fellow.”

Jyn held her fingers under his nose, and to her surprise felt the slightest breath run over her fingers.

“He's still breathing.” She pulled back his collar and pressed her fingers against his cold throat and found his weakening pulse. “Kaytu, he’s still alive!”

“Is he now? He won’t be much longer– at least not out here.” 

That was obvious. Perhaps she should leave him there to die, and have the peace of mind that her secret home was still well guarded, but she could already taste the bitter guilt of abandoning him. 

She could bring him up to the highway and a kinder soul than hers could take care of him, but who knew when or if such a soul would come. Plus, he probably had been attacked on that highway and somehow ended up here to hide. She could scrye and bring him to his home, but that would take precious hours he didn’t have. Either option would condemn the man with the unfortunate luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time to death.

There was another option: take him to her cottage to heal him. It was mad, of course, to risk her safety for a man she didn’t know. If he died here because of poor luck, then that was his fate. Jyn’s hand touched the smoothed edges of the clear quartz crystal around her neck -- the last gift her mother, a fearsome and powerful witch, gave her before she died. 

Maybe it was fate that brought them together and guided her hand to make sure he was still alive instead of assuming that he was dead.

Jyn unclasped her cloak and laid it on the ground, then picked him up by the armpits and slowly dragged him out. 

“What are you doing?” Kay squawked.

She pulled him all the way onto her cloak, then gingerly turned him over on his back. From the sickening way his left leg wobbled, she could tell that it was broken. His clothes were absolutely soaked, meaning he had been sleeping in the rain all night. She rifled through them, but didn’t find any signs of him being a witch hunter-- no silver dagger with a black cross welded onto the hilt, no tattoo over his heart proclaiming how many witches he had claimed, not even a talisman to ward against hexes. 

“Jyn!” Kay demanded. 

“Taking him back to the cottage.”

“What are you taking him to the cottage for?”

She rolled her eyes, “Don’t be stupid, Kay.”

The familiar bumped his head into her arm as she wrapped the man in her cloak.

“No, don’t be stupid, _ Jyn _. He’ll rat us out the moment he’s healed.”

“Not if I cast a memory charm on him so he forgets,” she argued, feeling more confident in this risk she was taking. It was a simple enough spell for an ordinary man. “_ I _ can’t forget seeing someone hurt and leaving him to die under a bush.”

“Not unless you cast the memory charm on yourself.”

“You know it doesn’t work that way.” She tied the hood around his head, then placed a hand on his chest and sang, “Oh cloak, please make this work lighter for me, and carry this man back home if you please.”

The cloak lifted the man into the air and followed Jyn as she dashed in the forest, pausing to pick wild herbs and flowers along the way. Her basket was bursting by the time they reached the cottage. She asked the pail to gather some water and the cauldron to seat itself over the fire and boil the water as quickly as it could. The cloak lowered the man on her bed, slipped out from under him, and flew over to hang itself on its spot on the coat rack. 

She unbuckled his surprisingly heavy belt and tossed it on the floor before getting to work. While the pillows propped them up, she instructed her sharpest pair of scissors to cut his clothes into strips while she bloomed lavender in warm water and picked an assortment of herbs and oils (making sure to add in lots of clover) and asked her mortar and pestle to pound them into a thick paste. The scissors tapped her shoulder when they were done, and she undressed him and threw his destroyed clothes in a pile on the floor to be mended later. 

She pulled back his eyelids and inspected his head -- luckily, the blood had come from a shallow cut that had already scabbed up. Her fingers prodded up and down his lean torso, the cold, clammy skin over his ribs splotched with purpling bruises. She examined his broken leg and could already smell the infection festering in his lungs before she checked the rest of his limbs. 

“Let’s see what he’s got in his pockets,” Kaytu said.

She listened to him sniff his coat pockets that the scissors neglected to cut, and that was followed by a series of muffled grumbles as he plunged his head in.

“Nothing but lint,” Kay huffed, hopping at the foot of her bed. “What’s the diagnosis?”

“Looks like a broken leg, two broken ribs, cut on the scalp, internal bleeding, hypothermic”

“Sounds like a recipe for death.”

“Not if I can help it.”

Kaytu watched as she set his broken leg with a splint and clover-soaked cloth, then she grabbed the mortar and slathered the bright green and purple poultice over the wound. She chanted under her breath as she evenly spread the pungent mixture over his chest, and once the poultice hardened she gently layered blankets over him. He still felt cool to the touch and his chest barely rose as he breathed.

“That will keep him steady for now,” she said, then rolled up her sleeves and marched back to the kitchen. “Make sure he’s still breathing, Kay.”

Kaytu mewled but she heard his soft footprints turn around and the creak of his weight on the bed. She went to the cupboards and pulled out an assortment of jarred exotics. Unfortunately, for the potion to be most potent she had to do all the cutting and stirring herself. She split the nine unicorn hairs first and dumped them in the boiling water to soften before she measured out the right amounts of powdered dragon blood and finely milled cloud giant’s bone.

“I have to admit,” Kaytu called out, “he does have a handsome face.”

“Do you want to keep him, now?” she laughed as she sliced a thin wedge from her half of a pickled basilisk eye.

“He could be my human familiar.”

Jyn shook her head and chuckled to herself as she tossed the bouquet of herbs and wildflowers into the cauldron. She grabbed a stool and her longest wooden spoon to stabbed at the ingredients. Once softened, she stirred counter-clockwise in slow, even strokes for the next three hours. She stirred with one arm until it tired and she switched to the other arm, and stirred with that until it tired and she switched again. 

She kept an ear out for Kaytu, but he said nothing until rain rattled against the window over the bed. She hummed to herself to help pass the time (and to distract herself from the growing need to pee). At the three hour mark she stirred the potion clockwise to break the whirlpool of blood-red potion, then set the fire to low so it would simmer for the next six hours.

After relieving herself, she returned to the kitchen to make herself lunch when Kaytu ran up to her feet.

“He stopped breathing just now.”

Jyn broke off a rosemary leaf and ran to his side. He had stopped breathing but his heart was still beating, so she put the rosemary under his tongue and gave him a breath. She could just feel the warmth returning under his skin. When she pulled away he continued breathing deep, mechanical breaths until tremors ran up his body and he spat out the leaf. His breaths were shallow but he was breathing on his own. 

“Thank the gods,” she sighed, slumping over her knees.

“I guess he’s still got some fight in him. Hopefully it lasts until the potion’s finished.” Kaytu said.

“Hopefully.”

She brought the pail of cooled lavender water and a lapful of clean rags to his bedside. She soaked a rag in the water and dabbed it over the bloodstain on his face. Kaytu hopped up on the bed and settled on the opposite side of his head, purring loud enough to hear.

“Thank you, Kaytu,” Jyn murmured as she wiped up the blood.

She hummed to herself as she gently cleaned the man’s face. He was as handsome as Kaytu claimed, with high cheekbones, long eyelashes, and a strong jawline barely masked by his beard, but he looked so serious as he slept. His mouth was pressed in a tight, severe line and his brows furrowed. Maybe he could feel the pain in his sleep. She folded a newly soaked lavender cloth and pressed it on his forehead, then quickly sewed up a small pillow of anise and asked it to cure his nightmares. She stuffed the anise pillow between the goose-feather pillows he slept on.

He took a deeper breath and his face softened as he slowly exhaled. She let out a sight of relief and allowed herself to make lunch. She ate by his bedside, of course, then started a rotation of mending his clothes, checking the potion, and refreshing the lavender cloth. She was exhausted, but she preferred that than knowing that he was dead in a bush some half-mile away from her home.

When night fell and Jyn had lit her overhead lantern, the potion had finally simmered into a syrupy, burgundy-colored concoction and she could take it off the flame. She ladled it in a pewter mug and stirred it until it was cool enough to drink.

She put the cloth back into lavender bowl and put the anise pillow in her pocket. Kaytu was awake now and silently watching her rub her thumb on his forehead in slow, small circles.

“Wake up, wake up. You need to drink your medicine,” she sang softly.

His eyes fluttered open, and the lamp light revealed amber within his dark eyes. “Where...where…” 

“You’re safe now.”

He turned his eyes at her and stared at her with such an intensity that it made her flush. “Who are you?” 

“I’ll tell you in a moment, but first you need some medicine,” she tilted her voice into song again. “Drink up, drink up, slowly, drink up every drop.”

She angled the goblet so he could drink without gagging on it, and he lifted his head so he could suck down the last drop. When she took it away he still licked his lips, his eyes having lost their intensity. Instead, they wandered up and down her face as he slowly blinked. 

“You have pretty eyes,” he slurred. At least the pain killer part of the potion was hitting him fast. “You make the world spin--”

She cupped his shoulder and lowered him back on the pillow. “Put your head down and that’ll help with the spins.”

“Oh, that is better. What happened?” He turned his head to Kaytu and smiled. “I’ve always wanted a cat.”

Kaytu meowed, a mocking grin on his face.

“This is Kay,” she said, and took a finger to guide his face back to her. “I found you under a bush and you were really hurt. You broke your ribs and your leg. How did that happen?”

His smile fell and he blinked slowly for a moment. “How did that happen? I was walking to town and...and there was a rider. A group of riders. I couldn’t get out of the way. Got hit. Fell down the hill. I don’t...I don’t remember anything else.”

“Do you remember your name?”

“Cassian Andor. Who are you?”

“Kestral Dawn.”

His smile returned, but it was a slow, serene smile. His hand found hers and he tried to squeeze it but he was too weak. She could feel his warmth returning. Even his face was regaining its color.

“That’s a beautiful name. Were you the one singing in my dreams?” he asked.

“Maybe. I do sing a lot.”

His eyes drifted close but she could sense him still fighting to stay conscious. “Am I dying?”

“No, but we still must be careful.” She squeezed his hand and sang one last time, “So sleep, Cassian. Sleep, and let your dreams be sweet.”

What little grip he had fell slack, and she tucked his hand under the covers.

“That was an easy way to get his name,” Kaytu said, his voice vibrating as he purred.

“I told you I know what I’m doing,” Jyn said as she wrung out the lavender cloth.

He snorted in response, and she place the cloth on his forehead and stuffed the anise pillow back under him. She was bone-weary now, and she swayed as she ladled the rest of her potion into jars. Once they were sealed, she pulled out her pelts and quilts and dumped them next to the bed. With a groan of relief she stripped herself of her day clothes and pulled on her nightgown. She kicked the pelts into place while she brushed and braided her hair into a single plait, then at last collapsed into bed.

“You’ll wake me if anything goes wrong, right Kaytu?”

“Of course, Jyn.”

Jyn asked the lamps and hearth to snuff themselves out. She buried herself under her quilt and slowly inhaled the scent of smoke and lavender.

“Good night, Kaytu. And good job today,” she murmured.

“Good night, Jyn. You did a good job too.”

She closed her eyes and fell asleep to Cassian’s soft snore and Kaytu’s purr.


	2. Chapter 2

Tearing through the night, the phantom white horse charged towards Cassian. Its wild, wide eyes held him transfixed, and he saw the spit foaming over the horse’s gray lips and felt the hellish heat of its breath before the gargantuan beast plowed him over. His chest caved in as he flew forever in the black night. The ground crashed into him fast and hard, throwing him back in the air again. He slammed against the ground again and screamed when his leg snapped under him. 

Somewhere during his tumble down the hill he blacked out. He woke up next to the bush that must have caught him. Cold rain pelted against his back, cooling his burning skin to the point that he shivered. He groaned until he coughed up a sticky ball of blood. Jagged shards of bone pricked his lungs if he breathed too deeply, so he panted quick, shallow breaths, but this made him light headed. He almost wished his head would detach from his shoulders so he could escape the searing, indescribable pain that pulsed within his body. 

He spat out blood and rainwater. He would not die out in the open and under the rain for wild animals and scavengers to find. His legs were useless -- one broken and the other still in shock-- so he crawled under the bush with bruised arms until he was under the bow of a main branch of the bush. The rain pooled on the long and skinny leaves of the bush and trickled over his head. 

So this is where he would die--alone, and in the dark. It was not surprising, but he had always hoped that he could avoid this fate.

He tasted mud before he lost consciousness.

* * *

He dreamed of floating in a warm cloud, of breathing rosemary, of soft hands on his face.

And there was a voice that sang soft and sweet. A brief glimpse of a young woman with starry green eyes, her dark brown hair haloing her pale face. He wondered why he was in heaven when he deserved to be in hell, and then she gave him something sweet to drink.

Cassian woke up in a bed that wasn’t his. 

He lifted his hand to rub his gummy eyelids, but stopped midway when his skin pulled and a shock of pain webbed from his ribs. His breath hitched in his throat and he whimpered as the stabbing pain slowly faded away. He blinked until his vision cleared, and he saw that he was resting in a cottage with a fire in the hearth that was too bright to look at. He squinted at the hodge podge of fabric on the dining table--it looked familiar, but he couldn’t place it.

His eyes grew heavy and let them droop, exhausted from the effort of staying awake for more than a couple of minutes.

Maybe this was all a dying dream, and he was still huddled under that bush while the rain soaked him. Despite the quilts, he shivered with cold that seized his heart. His lungs were heavy and pinched when he breathed too deeply.

The door flew open and a woman blustered inside. A gray cat jerked its head up at the noise, but didn’t move from its spot on the windowsill. It only meowed as the woman took off her cloak and set a basket of glistening flowers on the table. She sang as she rewound her hair into a tight brown bun that hung low on her head, then turned and smiled at Cassian, her green eyes glittering in the firelight.

“You’re awake,” she said and sat at his bedside. “How are you feeling?”

He stared at her, the only clear, solid thing in his feverish, shimmering haze.

“It was you...singing in my dreams,” he whispered, his voice rasping against his throat.

He reached out for her, this woman he barely knew, and she took his hand and cradled it between hers. He felt her rough, warm calluses that curved along the palms of her hand. 

“You caught me. How are you feeling, Cassian? Are you in any pain?”

A new chill ran threw him, and he groaned as shattered ribs stabbed the meat in his chest. A sharp, shooting pain came from his broken leg as well. “Yes.”

She patted his hand. “It sounds like you need more medicine.”

The woman left him for a brief moment to pull out a small, dark bottle and poured its darker liquid into a pewter cup. A dark cloud of suspicion formed in the back of his mind.

“What does it do?” he asked as she returned.

“It numbs your pain so you can sleep and breathe deeply without hurting. It will make you feel better faster,” she answered, already leaning it towards his lips.

He pressed his lips shut. He couldn’t shake off the dark cloud that grew heavier with each passing moment. The pewter cup...where had he seen something like that before? What would this concoction do to him? It was so hard to think clearly when his head was so foggy with fever and his heart was stammering between his ears. “What if I don’t wake up again?”

She frowned at him, but she looked concerned rather than offended. “This potion had saved your life last night,” she said, then her voice gently swung into something like singing, “Trust me, Cassian Andor, you need this medicine.”

Yes, he needed the medicine. 

His vision grew hazy around the edges but he leaned forward and drank up the medicine, which tasted like boysenberry wine. He sank back into his pillows with a satisfied sigh as the medicine cooled in his veins and quickly numbed the pain that had overwhelmed his body.

The woman set the goblet down and tucked the quilts around his shoulders. He wanted to touch her long bangs that softly curled over her pink cheeks. He stared at her pale freckles as she continued talking to him in that musical voice of hers. She wasn’t singing, really, but there was a lilt in her voice that blurred the line between singing and speaking.

Cassian missed her when she went away again, but he blinked and she was at his side again, only changed. She wore a simple white shift and her hair hung loosely about her head--he turned and saw that it was pitch black outside. He must have fallen asleep. He looked back at her, but she didn’t acknowledge him as she wrung a clean white cloth over a ceramic bowl. She smoothed it out and gingerly laid it over his forehead. He shivered under the blankets, but he didn’t feel pain from his ribs or his leg. 

“When you are strong enough then I’ll make you a purifying bath of hyssop and roses--” she murmured.

“No one’s given me flowers before,” he said, struggling to keep his eyes open. “No one’s ever been so kind. Is it because you like me? I like you.”

“Not even your mother? Or your father?”

“They died before I was six.”

“That must have been hard."

“I can’t remember their faces anymore,” he said with a heavy tongue, or thought he did.

They had died alone. His mother had been imprisoned for reasons he never understood, and his father had been cut down during a food riot. He wondered again if this was a dying dream, and that this kind woman was an elaborate hallucination.

He couldn’t feel anything anymore. The only thing that weighed him down were the blankets across his body. Her hand slipped underneath the covers and took his hand. He felt the familiar calluses--could he be imagining their roughness? Their distinct memory of hard work? Were her thin fingers lacing between his only a fabrication? Was this conversation a last comfort before he shuffled off into the next life?

She sang again, but a true song this time. He couldn’t understand the words, but they were comforting all the same, and he swiftly fell asleep.

* * *

Fire crackled and brew bubbled. Wind chimes rang gently in the autumn breeze. The mattress and pillows were the softest things, and the covers smelled of cedar. The air was perfumed heavily with flowers and herbs, too many to single out. 

Slowly, he peeled his eyes open and took in the quaint scene of a cottage: bundles of rosemary, thyme, lavender, and an assortment of herbs and wildflowers he couldn’t name hung upside down to dry all along the stone walls, a warm fire crackled under a steaming pot, and he was tucked under several colorful quilts with a gorgeous gray cat curled by his head while the rain lashed outside the window. 

How in the hell did he get here?

Cassian yawned, but it broke into a whimper when the air stabbed his lungs. The horse, the fall, the bush--those were his last memories. What happened between dying under a bush and waking up under these warm covers? He was feeling too warm, come to think of it, and he dug his hands under the covers to toss them off, but his hand touched his bare thigh. 

He peeked under the covers and discovered he was naked. 

Naked and alone in a cottage buried so deep in the woods that he couldn’t even see the mountain from the open window over his bed.

Cassian gingerly sat up, wincing from the pain in his ribs, and got a better look. There were bundles of herbs and flowers hanging all along the walls, and hanging amongst these was a pentacle twisted out of branches and festooned with sunflowers and berries. On her small dining table laid a black, shallow bowl with three candles around it -- remains of a scrying ceremony. Bubbling over the fire was a large cauldron and a ladle stirring its contents by itself. 

All signs that he, a witch hunter, was recovering in a witch’s hut. 

Shit. 

What concerned him at the moment was the massive copper bathtub just inches away from his bed. It was empty now, but he didn’t want to find out what she planned to fill it with, especially if this was the witch that he had been hired to capture and bring back to the king. She went by many names, but the locals called her Kestral Dawn. Though her healing potions were legendary, her more unsavory services had made her infamous in all corners of the kingdom, and she was to be made an example of. Witch hunters before him who tried to catch her were never seen again, and there were whispers that she transformed them into hogs and gifted them to the poor who would roast them for a rare feast.

He was sure it would be his fate as well if he didn’t escape right then. He threw back the covers and swung his good leg out before bracing his broken leg and carrying it off the bed. He paused, every muscle screeching at him that this was a mistake, but he reached for the tub to steady himself as he pulled himself up on his good leg. It wobbled under his weight like a newborn foal, and as he tried to take a step his bad leg crumpled under him and he fell face-forward and into a pair of outstretched arms.

A brunette woman with sea glass eyes rolled him back on the bed. The woman who could only be Kestral Dawn. He stared up at her, his chest heaving as if he had run for miles. His body was as limp and useless as a rag doll’s, but she helped him sit against his pillows and tucked the quilts around his bruised ribs. She was so close to him that he felt her breath against his collarbone as she scolded him.

“You could have injured yourself all over again!”

True, but it could be worse. Was he going to be sacrificed for some dark ritual? Was she going to make him her familiar? She probably had a whole list of horrible things she couldn’t wait to do to him.

“You’re...you’re a witch,” he panted.

“A witch who’s saved your life.”

“For what purpose?”

“To fatten you up and stick you in a stew.”

Of course, why didn’t he think of that? He couldn’t move, so she would just feed him--his thoughts broke off when she laughed.

“Oh, calm yourself. I found you near my cottage and I didn’t want to let you die. Once you’re better I’ll let you go, but you must swear never to tell anyone where I live.”

“I swear,” he said solemnly. It was the truth, after all. If he did his job right, he’d be taking her to the king as a prisoner and there’d be no need to tell anyone where this cursed place was.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Joreth Sward,” he replied, the false name forming naturally on his tongue. Only a fool would give a witch his true name, thus allowing her to control him. “You?”

“Kestral Dawn.”

His eyes went wide and his mouth went dry. “I’ve heard that name before. You help the women, mostly.”

“I go to town to fix their problems, but you’re the only person I’ve brought home with me.”

“Why?”

“You would have died if I tried to find out where you lived. Even when you were here I had to revive you once. What happened to you, anyway?”

“I was run over by a horse when I was walking to town on the highway. Sent me tumbling down the hill. I don’t remember much after that.”

He still remembered the unique terror flying like a ragdoll after being rammed by a thousand pound beast. He was certain that it had been a deliberate hit, because he heard the thundering hooves coming and moved to the edge of the road. When he turned back he saw the horse swerve towards him and he was struck before he could even see the rider. 

“Would you like some tea?” she asked.

If he accepted, he accepted to possibly being poisoned or hexed or forced to spill out every secret he kept closely guarded. If he refused, she would be suspicious of him and most likely kill him on the spot. His life was in her hands and he didn’t know how to get it back.

Her scoffing laugh broke his thoughts. “If I wanted to poison you, I would have done so already.”

He flushed. “Tea would be nice, thank you.” 

She turned away and he watched her boil water and pluck out a tin that he hoped was tea. His hand tucked under the covers to instinctively touch his belt, and he was reminded of his nakedness. His heart leapt in his throat-- that belt hid his witch hunting tools within the leather. His eyes scoured all over the small cabin for the plain leather belt, but didn’t see it. His eyes fell to the tub again, the bottom littered with wild flowers and herbs, and he gulped. 

“Do you mind if I ask you where my clothes are?”

She turned away from the tea and hurried back to his bedside. “Oh, they’re right here. I had to cut them off of you, so I’ve been mending them.”

From a pile of rags on a wooden stool, she picked up a yellowed lump of fabric that resembled his shirt that had obviously been shorn and stitched back together in large, uneven stitches.

“You...you didn’t cut my belt up either, did you? It’s quite expensive.”

“No.”

She pulled out the coiled belt from under the rag pile, and he let out a sigh of relief when she handed it to him. He ran his fingers over the undisturbed stitching and felt his heart sinking back into place. She handed him the “mended” shirt and he ran his hands over the abused piece of fabric.

“I can finish mending my clothes,” he said. “You have more than enough work to do. Besides, there’s not much I can do but rest and recover.”

“I suppose.”

He had picked out several stitches by the time she brought two cups of strong black tea. As far as he could tell, she hadn’t added anything, not even milk or sugar. He desperately wanted to put in a drop of Revealer from his belt, but seeing as that would expose him, he blew on his tea and watched her drink from it first. He took a minute sip, but felt nothing except for the normal bloom of energy that came from sipping tea.

“How long was I out?” he asked.

“You've been here for four days. I don't know how long you were under that bush. I’m sure someone’s out looking for you.”

“There’s no one.”

“No one?” She pinched her eyebrows together and looked suspicious of him. He took another cautious sip of tea. 

“The only person you can rely on in this world is yourself.”

Kestral’s brow softened and her green eyes grew unfocused, like she was looking past him. He knew enough about witches to know that they led lonely, hard lives, and it looked as though he had gotten her to sympathize with him.

“Yes, that’s true.” 

She looked somber as she stared down into her tea cup. His heart ached in a way he hadn’t expected.

“So thank you for saving my life.” 

He leaned in a little closer, but curled his fist to resist grabbing her hand. Her frown rose into a small smile, and the pain in his heart eased. 

“I’ll ready your bath,” she said.

His heart twisted itself in a knot.

“What for?” he said, trying to not sound as worried as he felt.

“For one, you stink. For two, it’s to aid the healing process.”

From the look of his mud-stained torso and the layer of filth that had settled in his hair, he couldn’t argue with the first reason. The second reason, however… “You tied up my leg, didn’t you? That shouldn’t get wet.”

A mischievous smile played at her mouth. “Why don’t you want to take a bath?”

He had to think fast, but it was hard to do so when he imagined her putting him in the tub and then shoving his head down under the water, and he’d be too weak to fight back and oh God he’s fifteen again and drowning in the pond again--suddenly, he had an excuse.

“The tub is big and I can’t sit up for very long.”

“You thought I was going to let you bathe by yourself and risk drowning after all this effort I’ve put into keeping you alive?” 

“Well...um...modesty,” he sputtered, his cheeks growing hot.

“You’ll find little modesty out here in the woods,” Kestral said, plucking the wobbling cup out of his hand, then finished the tea in a gulp. “And I know it’s asking a lot, but I’m going to need you to trust that I’m not going to hurt you.”

He stared at her and tried to find a twitch around her eyelids or her lips that would give her lie away, but her face was open to him, and to his surprise he found a hint of fear in her eyes. She had no idea who he was and he was completely helpless, so why would she be afraid of him?

Why did she trust him despite that fear?

If she trusted him to not hurt her (yet) then he had to trust that she wasn’t going to hurt him (yet). 

He pursed his lips and nodded, then looked away from her and caught his breath. She left to collect the kettle of water that had been heating up over the low fire in the hearth. When she poured the steaming water into the tub, the room was instantly perfumed with the scents of rose and mint and something earthier that he couldn’t name. She filled the kettle with water again and set it over the fire, then took it off just as the steam from the bath evaporated. He watched her work in silence.

When she finished, he tossed back his blankets. She pulled them away and untied the splint around his broken leg, then cracked off the chunks of browned leaves covering his leg and chest. Gingerly, she wrapped an arm around his shoulders and helped him stand on his good leg. He grappled on to her, panting hard as she slowly partly carried him so he could lower his bad leg through the flowers and into the bath. He grabbed the rim of the tub and eased his other leg into the water.

“Stronger than I thought,” he grunted as she helped him sit properly.

“So I’ve heard.”

Kestral gave him a sponge so he could scrub himself under the cover of steeping foliage, providing him a modicum of modesty, at least.

“I can wash your hair,” she offered.

He wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to do that, but the ways his ribs ached every time he tried to lift his arms made it clear that he couldn’t do it himself. He almost wanted to leave it unwashed, but he could feel the clumps of mud and blood hanging heavily on the back of his head. She looked directly at him as she waited for his answer, her pale cheeks blooming pink. 

Slowly, he nodded his head. 

She stood up and he heard her pull up the stool behind him and sit down. 

“Lean your head back, please.”

He leaned his head back and she cupped the warm water into his hair until it was thoroughly soaked. He heard her hands rubbing together before her fingers plunged back into his hair, scraping through the built up grime and dirt until his scalp tingled. He leaned his head back further, needing her nails to scrape harder against his skin, and he groaned with pleasure.

“Too much?” she asked, those damn magical fingers of hers frozen in his hair.

Cassian remembered himself for a moment and felt embarrassed that he melted in her hands like a novice, but he couldn’t stop himself from closing his eyes and whispering, “Not enough.”

She breathed a soft laugh and continued to massage his head. He bit the inside of his cheek because he should  _ not _ be enjoying this. He had a moment of respite when she stopped the massage to rinse his hair.

He tried to think of the hunters before him who tried to capture her and ended up disappearing because of it. Perhaps she cradled their heads with one hand while cupping warm water over his forehead to rinse the suds out. He was about to open his eyes again when she combed his freshly scrubbed hair in long, even strokes.

The fire’s crackle muffled as his ears submerged. His breath hitched in his throat, but her hands spread underneath his head and neck while the rest of his body floated in the tub. 

He trusted her. He trusted her. He  _ trusted _ her.

“Open your eyes.”

He did, and he stared up at the water’s surface. A few bubbles shivered up to the top, breaking through the dark canopy. He ought to be terrified, but all he felt was calm. Calm and sleepy. He closed his eyes again and a surge of bubbles escaped his mouth. He breathed in the water like it was air. Its warmth seeped through his chest and wound around his aching ribs until the pain eased. He exhaled the red-tinged water out and inhaled clean and clear water, and the cycle continued until he fell asleep.

“-ian, wake up.”

Cassian coughed up water all over Kestral’s hands. He breathed painlessly for the first time that he could remember, so fast and deep that it left him dizzy. With strong, gentle hands she managed to lift him out of the tub and onto the bed. His head lolled on the pillow as she dried him off. He wanted to drift off again, but something was wrong. There was something she had said and he couldn’t remember what it was.

When she tucked the covers around his chin, he tried to ask her what she said but his words all rushed together like falling water. She combed his hair with his fingers again, humming an old song. He was too tired to ask again, and he fell asleep once more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upped the rating to M. Blame it on stupid sexy nekkid Cassian.

“So he’s a liar,” Kaytu said, hopping up on the foot of the bed.

Jyn sighed as she watched Cassian sleep. The bath had worked its magic and now he was breathing easier than before, but there were still dark circles around his eyes. She squeezed her hands in her lap to resist the urge to trace the edge of his sunken sockets.

“We know that he lied about his name,” she said, keeping her voice low as she untangled her thoughts. “Anyone with any sense knows not to give a witch their true name.”

“Still makes him a liar.”

Kaytu’s reminder ruffled her, but he was right. Cassian lied about his name, and he was probably lying about other things as well. It was clear that he was mistrustful of witches. Many men she had come across were mistrustful of witches, so it didn’t really surprise her that he tried to escape the moment he was lucid. At least it would be easy to cast a memory charm on him, since he’d be as eager to forget about his time at her cottage as she was. 

Still, something stirred in her that she couldn’t name. It made her want to comb his hair back one more time, or hold his hand so he didn’t feel alone. She saw in his eyes that he feared a lonely death, and she couldn’t stop herself from reaching out to him. It was a fear she shared, although she knew it was her fate to one day send Kaytu out to find a new witch and to die alone in this cottage.

A stubborn lock of hair fell over his eyebrow. Without a second thought, she leaned over and brushed it back. She pressed the back of her fingers against his forehead, now considerably cooler than before, and brush them along his hairline.

“Jyn.”

She forced herself to look at Kaytu, who sat up tall and thumped the end of his gray tail.

“Don’t fall in love with the first man you bring home.”

“Of course not,” she scoffed. 

“Are you planning to take his seed, then?”

She glared at him, but she understood where his point came from. It was a fairly normal practice for witches that wanted children to lure a man to their bed so they could take his seed before casting him off. Her parents were different. They were actually married before her mother revealed to her father that she was a witch, but her father accepted her. Jyn always secretly hoped for a rare romance like that, but she didn’t share that with Kaytu. 

“I have enough to do without looking after a little one,” she said, getting up to fetch a new splint and fresh strips of cloth.

After she set his leg and emptied the bathtub, she slept in a pile of furs and blankets on the floor at his bedside. She heard him shift once, then fell asleep to his slow and steady breathing.

* * *

Cassian slept late into the next morning. She was just about to start putting lunch together when she heard his startled snore. He was already sitting up and about to fall off the bed again when she reached him.

“Need to take a piss,” he grunted, his face burning red.

The chamber pot zipped out from under the bed and zoomed in his lap. Jyn opened the front door and returned to the kitchen. She stood next to the cauldron, but the simmering soup and crackling fire were not loud enough to hide the sound of his relieved groan. When he had finished, the chamber pot carefully floated out the front door to empty itself. Jyn poured him some soup in a bowl to cool on the table and cut a half a loaf of bread into thick slices. She wasn’t sure if he liked honey or jam, but she put them on a tin plate with the bread before bringing it to him.

Cassian was still sitting up, but his whole body trembled and he panted like a wild dog with a ravenous appetite. His eyes widened at the sight of the bread.

“Hungry?” she asked, handing him a slice.

He shoved the slice in his mouth and immediately gagged on it.

“Don’t choke,” she chided as she sat next to him. “Honey or jam?”

“Both.”

He ripped the bread into jagged pieces. She waited until he fully chewed and swallowed each slice before giving him more. The sudden, insatiable hunger was another sign that the bath had worked its magic, but she had to be careful that he didn’t eat too much too fast and get sick. 

After the fifth slice Cassian seemed to have realized this, and he slowed his chews and took smaller bites. His face still had a sheen of sweat when he had polished off the bread and his gaze looked greedily at the jars of honey and jam, but he wasn’t shaking anymore. Jyn handed him the cooled bowl of soup, which he sipped in measured mouthfuls. He let out another sigh of relief when he finished his soup.

“Thank you,” he said, handing the bowl back to her.

“Feel better?”

“Yes. Well, the leg’s still broken and my ribs are still stiff, but I’m full.”

“Good.”

He licked his lips. “What...was that, last night?”

“What do you mean?”

“The bath. It was a normal bath but...then I could breathe the water. Was that real?”

“Yes.”

His dark eyes scoured her face, his dark brows knitting with concern. 

“But how?”

“Magic,” she said, a smile teasing her face. “Why, were you scared?”

“Before going in the tub, yes.” Red bloomed from his ears. “I had almost drowned once, when I was fifteen. Have you ever almost drowned before?”

Her smile faded. “No.” 

“The water was much colder, but there comes a point when you’re underwater and you’re so desperate for air that you try to breathe. Only you can’t of course, and it feels like you’re breathing fire until you pass out.”

She wanted to look away from him, but she refused to let him intimidate her.

“I’m sorry that happened to you, but I knew what I was doing. It’s old magic, but it changes the water and makes it almost like air. All it did was draw the infection out of your lungs. Would you rather I leave it in there to kill you next time?”

“Just be honest and tell me what you’re going to do to me before you do it.”

_ The liar asks for honesty? _ She thought, but she bit her prickly tongue. She was asking him, a man who didn’t trust her, to trust her and her abilities. If being honest with him about her methods helped her gain his trust, then she could easily do that. 

“Fine. But don’t stop taking your medicine once you find out what’s in it.”

“Fine,” he answered, licking his lips again. “Could I have some water?”

After nearly drinking a full pitcher of water, he finally eased himself down on the bed. Jyn threw the blankets over him, and he thanked her as his eyes drifted close again. Having much more to do that day than to watch him sleep, she moved the clothes she had been trying to sew back together next to the bed and went outside to make a couple of house calls, but left Kay behind to keep an eye on Cassian. 

When she had finished her errands, she passed by the tailor shop and saw a handsome set of men’s clothes in the window. Even if she were a master seamstress, the clothes she tore up wouldn’t be the same again. She went inside and ordered a reasonably priced white shirt, pants, a new pair of woolen socks, and underwear. From her memory she gave a rough estimate of his measurements, heat burning her cheeks. The tailor smiled, but he didn’t ask her any probing questions as she plopped a few heavy coins in his hand.

“It’ll be ready for you in a week,” he promised.

Jyn left the tailor shop feeling unreasonably giddy, and walked back into the woods.

When she returned to the cottage, she found Cassian awake and sitting up in bed with Kaytu curled by his feet. In his hands was the shirt she had started mending, and he had somehow gotten one of her knives and was cutting the stitches out.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“Mending.”

He gripped the knife tighter, but didn’t look up at her.

“By ripping up my work?”

He looked up at her and stuck a finger between the two pieces of cloth held together by her massive stitches. Jyn rolled her eyes.

“Ok, I see your point,” she said, then noticed his fine, even stitches on another part of the shirt. “How did you learn to make such tidy stitches?”

“Patience and practice.”

“Well, you can keep ripping that shirt up for rags. I went to town today and got you some new clothes. I’ll pick them up in a week.”

“How much do I owe you?”

“Tailor owed me a favor.”

He eyed her suspiciously, but said, “Thank you.”

As he ripped up the work they had both put into the shirt, she made dinner for him to sip on the bed and for her to eat on her table. Kaytu ate leftover stew meat on top of the table with Jyn, but he kept a wary eye on Cassian. She stroked him and he mewed between laps of milk. 

“If you’re ever bored, I have books you can read,” she offered as she took away his bowl that he had scraped clean.

He raised an eyebrow. “Are they spellbooks?”

“I said books _ you _ can read. Your eyes would bleed if you tried to read my spellbooks.”

He sat up straighter. “Really?”

She just rolled her eyes as she piled the washing on the counter. Jyn then called out to the bedroll that had been hiding under his bed, and it unfurled while she changed into her night shift. When she turned around the pelts were neatly piled on her bedroll and Cassian had a bare leg out that reached for the floor.

“Get back into bed!” she fussed.

He jerked his head up at her, but didn’t move his leg. “Is that where you’ve been sleeping while I’ve been here?”

“Where else would I sleep?”

He sighed, and pressed his hands down on the bed so he could swing out his broken leg. The movement made him grimace.

“I’ll sleep on the floor tonight,” he grunted, pulling a fistful of blanket to cover himself.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re still injured.”

He gripped the edge of the bed. “Not as bad as before.”

“Bad enough.”

Jyn folded her arms over her chest and met his stubborn gaze, then let out a breath when he finally looked away.

“We could share it,” he mumbled.

“Excuse me?”

He looked back at her with a sly smile on his face and amber crescents in his eyes.

“It’s going to be cold tonight,” he offered.

Heat crept up her neck.

“Th-Then I guess I’m sleeping by the hearth tonight.”

“It won’t keep you warm for long. And what happens to me if you get sick? We’d end up sharing this bed anyway.”

Internally Jyn screamed because _ damn him _ and his quietly tempting voice and teasing eyes that made her quiver like an anxious virgin. Was it the medication that was making him bold, or was he naturally this coy?

“I never thought you’d be so willing to invite a witch into your bed, Joreth.”

She was glad to see his cheeks flush.

“Well, technically, it is _ your _ bed,” he said.

She scoffed, then shivered from a real chill as the night grew colder. “All right, you’ve convinced me. Move over.”

He scooted towards the wall and she climbed in. The sheets were already warm from his heat. Although her bed was wide for one person, with two people it was a little small. Jyn beckoned him to lay his head down properly on the pillow. It took some shuffling and grumbling but they managed to each get half of her large pillow when they pressed their shoulders and legs together. 

“Good night, Kestral,” he sighed.

“Good night, Joreth.”

She could feel the outline of his muscle between the layers of fabric. Her imagination salivated at the idea of touching his skin and tracing the tendons before her curious fingers explored other places she hadn’t touched--heat welled between her legs and she squeezed her thighs together as she fell asleep.

_ Deep in a dark, gnarled wood stood Jyn’s childhood home. It was a one room cottage with a big bed that she had loved to jump on when she was a child, especially when her parents were trying to sleep in. Even now she could still smell the spicy, warm smell of gingerbread that her father loved to bake and hear the soft melodies of her mother’s ring of crystals singing to each other whenever Jyn or her mother approached them or rearranged them around the cottage. _

_ Her father, though he lacked magic, was the one who made poultices and ointments that healed a great many ailments. Her mother’s strength came from the earth itself, ancient and unyielding. For years they had been safe because her mother’s chain of crystals and her ties to the earth. _

_ But someone broke that chain. Jyn was only eight years old when woke in the middle of the night to the sound of shattering glass. She looked out her window and saw a wizard in white step past their barrier. The next thing she knew her parents burst into her room and carried her out the back. There were rushed hugs and kisses and instructions to go to the secret cave and wait for them. She ran into the woods like they asked, but a terrible fear gripped her stomach and ran around the edges so she could see what was happening. _

_ There was a flash of white light and the thatched roof of the cottage was on fire, as if lightning had struck it. Jyn heard her father sobbing as her vision cleared, and she saw him on his knees and her mother crumpled in a lifeless heap on the grass. _

Jyn gasped as she woke, her eyes stinging with tears. Thunder clapped overhead and the rain battered against her wood roof like a hail of arrows. She inhaled a shaky breath. It was only the dust of an old memory, but she shook as if it had just happened. She wished she could just forget it. She wished that it would stop stirring up at random to disturb what little peace she had.

Cassian shifted and Jyn tried to sniff up her tears, but then he pulled the blanket over her shoulders.

“Thunder wake you up too?” he whispered.

“No.”

Her voice sounded strained and she hated it. At least it was so dark that she couldn’t see what must have been a pitying look. Or maybe it was empathetic. She remembered, in his far from lucid state, that he had also lost his parents. His fingers curled against her wrist, like he was encouraging her to continue.

“It was just a nightmare.”

He said nothing but his fingers pressed gently against her skin. She could stay silent too, and pretend to fall asleep, but her nerves were too raw and ragged to hold the truth back.

“I was remembering...when I was eight, the kings guard came to my home. My parents told me to hide in the woods, but I crept out and saw the hunters kill her. They went looking for me to kill me too but I had fled, and hid in a cave until Sa--a friend of my parents’ came and picked me up.”

Her words had come out in a rush, but already she could feel a weight that had been pressing against her chest start to crumble away. Kay had known what had happened, but it was comforting to tell her story to someone new, to someone who would listen.

“What happened to your father?” Cassian asked.

“I don’t know. It’s easier to think that he’s dead.”

She sniffed and gasped to stifle the oncoming sob. She turned her hand and her trembling fingers grasped against his solid, stable ones. Cassian didn’t say a word as she struggled to calm down. Several long minutes passed before he broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

She swallowed down hot tears. “I forgot to sew a new anise pillow. It usually keeps those nightmares away.”

“Is there something else that will help you sleep?”

“There are potions, if I'm desperate. The problem with those is that the more you use it, the more you need it, until you can't sleep without it--except for one potion. You have to be careful with it though, or you'll sleep until you die. I’ve used that one once and I slept for three days straight. It wasn't a restful sleep either. Every time I was about to wake up I feared it so much that I had forced myself into a deeper sleep.”

“Spells?”

“I can't cast spells on myself.”

She felt his hand twitch. “But another witch could?”

“Or a wizard. What do you do to help yourself sleep?”

“Drink.”

She laughed, and he squeezed her hand gently.

“I would offer you my flask but I think I lost it when I got knocked down here.”

“The thought’s appreciated.”

His thumb stroked the back of her hand in soft, even strokes. It was wonderfully distracting to her, but it also made her want to wrap herself around him, which she was sure he wouldn’t appreciate. He was being kind, not flirtatious (though the way his tongue wrapped around words made it hard for her to tell which was which).

“Can I ask...what is the spell to make you sleep?”

“What, do you want to sing it to me?” she chuckled, but to be honest she wouldn’t mind hearing him sing.

“Does it have to be sung for it to work?”

“The magic I practice does. But you're no wizard. It wouldn’t work if you sang it.”

“I’d still like to hear it.”

His thumb drew circles over her wrist, and she realized that it had been years since anyone had held her hand like it was something precious and delicate. 

“All right,” she sighed. “I won't fully sing it, or it'll put you asleep.”

“Okay.”

She cleared her throat and said, “To the hills for the day has ended, stars blink and moon ascended--what's wrong?”

His thumb had suddenly stopped and it pressed hard against her skin.

“I know that song,” he said.

She felt just as shocked as he sounded. “How?”

“My mother used to sing it to me. Are you sure it's a spell?”

“It is. How did your mother learn about it?”

“I don't know. But I remember it, and then it went ‘Green candles glimmer, long be the night.’”

He _ did _ know the spell, and his mother did too, but how? It was a very old spell, and maybe an ancestor of his had overheard it and through the ages it had become a family lullaby. 

She stammered as she took over the next verse, “To the hills and far away, where stones sing and willows sway--”

He skipped ahead of her, his grip tightening. “_ Mesmerizing scent of clove, hypnotizing song of Jove. Green candles glimmer, long be the night.” _

And then their voices blended together as they sang the chorus, the heart of the spell. It was a simple chant of “_ Come together, together as one _” that wrapped around a person until they felt safe enough to fall asleep again. Cassian’s voice sounded desperate and hers was still ragged from tears that flowed freely down her cheeks. He leaned down until his forehead pressed against hers and his breath mingled with hers. 

He was so, so close to her. If she lifted her head she could kiss him, but that would break the chain. She couldn’t stop singing and she didn’t want him to stop singing either. He had a voice that was painted with sorrow, but threaded in it was something light, something hopeful. His voice lifted hers up and together they harmonized into a quivering note that not even the thunder could dampen.

An amber streak flashed in Cassian’s rich brown eyes, and Jyn’s voice drifted off. Her head was so heavy and her eyelids stuck together. She felt her mind grasping to hold onto consciousness despite the web of words falling over her, almost like he was casting the spell on her.

Cassian yawned and wrapped an arm around her.

“Come together...forever as one,” he whispered, finishing the song and swiftly sending her to sleep.

* * *

Jyn woke up far too early in the morning, but Cassian blocked the gray light peeking through her shutters. Despite his injuries, he had moved on his side to envelope her completely in his arms. In her sleep she too had twisted until she was flush against his naked body. Her shift provided some protection, but he was erect and curled around her, and she felt uncomfortably tight between her legs. She remembered what Kay had said about taking his seed, but she didn’t want it.

_ “Don’t fall in love with the first man you bring home.” _

Jyn huffed and nuzzled closer to Cassian. She wasn’t falling in love, she was being selfish. She just wanted to be held like someone cared about her, _ wanted _her, like Cassian did now. She had no idea why, and maybe he didn’t know either. Something had changed last night, like a featherlight chain of silver was draped over their heads. She couldn’t feel the weight but she could still feel it pinch at her bare skin.

Cassian shifted and he rested his cheek on her forehead. Exhaustion weighed down her eyelids, and she sank into his embrace as she slipped back into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lullaby was inspired and based off of "Monstrance Clock" by Ghost. Super hypnotic song but I needed to change it so it would fit this universe better lol


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't forget about this fic, this chapter just took a long time to write lol.

It had been a long, long time since Cassian had shared a bed with someone, and he had never woken up still entangled in another’s arms. “Companionship” for more than a night was a luxury he couldn’t have as a hunter. 

And he had _ never _ slept with a witch. He knew how to gain their trust and charm them until he captured them and brought them back to the king to be brought to justice. From Kestral’s flustered and half-hearted resistance to share the bed last night, he knew that those charms were having an effect on her. When they had both woken in the middle of the night, he took great care in getting her to trust him enough to share her secrets. 

But last night... hadn’t gone the way he planned. 

_ “What happened to your father?” _

_ “I don’t know. It’s easier to think that he’s dead.” _

That had hit him square in the gut. His own father never told him what happened to his mother after she was arrested, or what she was arrested for. Even when he became a hunter with access to the king’s archives, he couldn’t bring himself to look up what she had done. She had always been such a warm, generous presence in his young life that he didn’t want his memories to be further tainted by learning that she had committed high treason or murdered someone.

He also felt an intense shame and was glad that the dark hid his face. His work was for the greater good, but it sometimes meant ripping children out of the arms of their mothers and fathers. If the children were young enough, their powers were bound and they were sent to orphanages to live relatively normal lives. The older children were a case by case basis, and he knew that some of them went to hang with their mothers. 

To protect himself against witches, King Palpatine kept wizards among his personal guard. They practiced a more logical and refined magic, to counteract the chaotic sorcery of the wild women. Cassian had only been here with Kestral for a few days, but he was starting to understand her magic and beginning to question the king’s logic. 

This was getting dangerous.

He wasn’t sure at what point his intentions had changed from gathering information and working to gain her trust to… something more intimate. During his training as a hunter he had all sorts of spells cast on him and he sampled many potions to learn their effects. The love potions and love spells made him feel like he was having a heart attack and made his mind fuzzy around the edges.

But while they had sung each other to sleep, his mind was clear and he felt something warm and delicate bloom in his chest. 

His eyes were closed but he woke up to find himself erect between Kestral’s thighs. His lips were already brushing against her forehead. The thin cloth barrier between his skin and her breasts only made his craving for her stronger. All he needed to do was lean down a scant few inches and kiss her until her lips were blushing and bruised.

His eyes cracked open and immediately squinted. The rest of his body was still stiff with sleep, and all he could do was stare at the lumps and bumps of their entwined bodies under the quilts. For a horrifying moment he thought he had slept with her, but then he remembered the storm, and the song, and--

A shaft of morning light dappled on Kestral’s face. He blinked until he could see her clearly. Her dark hair curled over her ear and draped over her neck, but the end of a stray strand was caught over her eyelashes. Gingerly he brushed it back, his knuckles dragging along her soft cheek. His eyes dipped down at her lips. Without thinking his thumb traced under her bottom lip, and the urge to kiss her rose within him again.

But he had orders. He had to bring Kestral before the king, there was no way around that. But maybe he could compromise with him. Kestral had saved his life, so surely that would mean… that would mean nothing to King Palpatine. Kestral may have saved his life, but what about the lives of the other witch hunters she had stolen? The king had never said exactly what he was going to do with Kestral, but it wouldn’t surprise Cassian if Palpatine made a spectacle out of her execution. She would be a warning to other witches who dared to defy his majesty. He knew this when he accepted the job. He had planned to trick her into following him back to the king. 

Guilt trickled over him like cold oil. Dangerous thoughts of simply _ not _ telling the king he had found her sparked within him, threatening to ignite something rebellious and wild, like staying with her in these lonely woods. He could imagine worse things than waking up with her in his arms every morning.

He took a deep breath and flinched at the pull of healing tissue. The pain brought him back to his senses. Cassian was hired to do a job, and he had to fulfil it. Palpatine had a way of finding out when he was being lied to, and both he and Kestral would end up on the gallows when he found out. And even if he decided to stay with her, Kestral would probably kill him the moment she found out he was a hunter. If he was going to survive, he had to follow orders.

But those orders could wait until his ribs and leg had healed, he reasoned with himself as he gingerly untangled himself from Kestral’s grasp. The song last night– he felt like the words his mother used to sing to him had possessed him, but he couldn’t tell if that was Kestral’s doing. He was still learning about witches and their craft. 

But first, he had to relieve himself. He climbed over Jyn and made his way to the edge of the bed and slowly lowered himself down to the floor so he could reach down for the chamber pot. The cat leapt up on the bed and purred as he rubbed himself over Kestral’s hair. Cassian managed to grab the chamber pot and pissed in it. 

Behind him came a panicked male voice in a similar lilt to Kestral’s.

“What did you do?”

Cassian turned and met the cat’s hard, angry gaze. “So you can talk.”

“Yes, now tell me what you did to Kestral. I’ve bitten her three times and she hasn’t woken up.”

Carefully, Cassian set the chamber pot down. “I didn’t do anything.”

“The sleeping spell. I heard you two sing it last night.”

“I’m no wizard.”

A low growl wavered from deep within the cat’s throat. “You’re going to have to help me wake her up then.”

“I told you, I’m no wizard. I can’t cast spells or make potions--”

“I need you to get the bottle of smelling salts and open it. As you may have noticed, I don’t have opposable thumbs.”

Cassian sighed, but he put his weight on his good leg and hoisted himself up. His bad leg screamed as his muscles stretched like disused violin strings. He leaned heavily against the wall, panting hard. Kaytu ran ahead of him and leaped onto the short counter underneath a cupboard. 

“Don’t take all day,” Kaytu chided as Cassian hobbled over.

“Going as fast as I can on one leg,” he grunted.

His thigh ached as he held up his broken leg and a thin crown of sweat formed over his brow as he half-skipped over to the kitchen. He grappled onto the knobs and swung the cupboard doors open. Holding onto the doors, he scoured the numerous dark and clear vials that were crammed on each shelf.

“The salts are in the purple jar on the third shelf. Do you see it?”

“Yes,” Cassian said.

He leaned on his right side and fumbled for the jar with his left hand. Kay warned him not to break anything before dashing off for Kestral’s bed again. Between the clinks of glass Cassian made out a low, almost whispered plea from the cat familiar.

“_ Wake up, Jyn. Wake up! _”

His heart skipped a beat and he grasped the neck of the smelling salts’ bottle a little too firmly. Was Jyn another fake name or was it Kestral’s true name? It had to be her true name. Why else would the cat try to keep him from hearing it? His heart thundered in his chest as he slowly made his way back to the bed.

He plopped back on the edge of the bed and nearly dropped the salts on the floor, but swung his arm back so the bottle fell on the bed. Cassian took Kestral by the shoulders and gently turned her on her back. Her arm flopped over the bed, her fingers softly curled in the air. Cassian felt his breath catch as he gazed down at her, and almost felt jealous over how soundly she slept.

“Quickly now!” Kaytu hissed. “Her chances of never waking up again significantly increases the longer she sleeps.”

An epiphany hit Cassian as he struggled to pull the cork out of the jar. He could bag the cat and bring the Kestral to King Palpatine, and argue that her sleeping death should count as her execution. She would probably be kept in the king’s tower, but at least she would be alive.

The cork popped out and he got a whiff of the eucalyptus-scented ammonia. He snorted and shook his head clear of the smell and the ridiculous idea. What the hell was he thinking? Better dead than a perpetual prisoner.

He waved the smelling salts a few inches away from her nose. She didn’t react, so he leaned a little closer. Nothing. Not even a twitch of her nose or an irritated snore.

Kaytu growled in his throat and shook his head. “I’ll be right back, don’t do anything stupid.”

“What would I do?” he muttered.

Kaytu leapt off the bed and scrambled through the cat door cut through the front door. Cassian stoppered the bottle and laid it on the bed, then folded her arm back over her torso. His hand rested on hers as he observed her face. Part of him wished that she was playing a terrible trick on himself and Kaytu, but her unnatural stillness convinced him that this was no normal sleep. This had to have been the song they sang last night, but how could he have cast the sleeping spell on her? He only knew how to break curses, not weave them.

He looked over to where his belt was buried between the wall and the bed. He probably had something that would break this curse, but that risked revealing himself, a risk he wasn’t willing to take just yet. So he squeezed her hand, and pleaded with her in a voice soft enough for only them to hear.

“Wake up, Jyn.”

Jyn’s head arched back as she inhaled a sharp breath. She groaned as she sat up, eyes still closed, and wobbled for a moment before veering forward until her forehead nearly collided with his. Cassian’s eyes widened when he felt her sigh over his lips, and he turned his head to the side so he didn’t accidently kiss her. He felt her brow crease against hers as she sighed again, her voice creaking as she tried to wake up.

“What...what happened?” she mumbled.

He swallowed, but his mouth was still dry. “You were sleeping.”

“Oh.”

She sagged down and crumpled against his shoulder. His ribs ached from her weight and he braced himself on the edge of the bed. He feared that she had fallen asleep again when suddenly she sat up and leaned her head back. Her body swayed as her right leg tried to find its footing--he pulled her back from tumbling out of bed and held her close to his chest, almost like he was cradling her. 

“Easy, easy,” he whispered.

She yawned and wiped her eyes until they peeled open. His heart caught along the ridge of his ribs at the sight of her eyes that shifted between blue and green like sea glass. She blinked slowly at him, her breast swelling under his hand with every breath--and he was grateful for the blankets covering his increasing interest.

Jyn inhaled deeply and shuddered off the veil of grogginess that hung over her. He helped her sit up and she stood up on her own before staggering out the front door, the chamberpot hovering behind her. When she returned, she was still rubbing her eyes.

“Where’s Kay?”

“Went to look for something to wake you up. We had been trying for a while but you weren’t waking at all.”

She looked outside, her brow bending over her eyes, then turned back to him. “Are you sure you’re not a wizard?” she grumbled.

“Positive.”

“Anyone in your family, then? Because this is not...this is--” she turned away to yawn wide enough that he heard her jaw crack, and then she rounded him again. “This feels like a spell.”

“There’s no magic in my family.”

She squinted at him and crossed her arms. “We should scrye, just to make sure.”

Now, Cassian Andor knew damn well what scrying was– it was the reason he turned his mirrors towards the walls. Joreth Sward, on the other hand--

“Scrye?” he asked.

“I usually use it to see into the future, but we can use it to look into your past.”

Prickles of fears ran coldly down his back. “No, I’m not interested.”

“I wouldn’t have to see anything. I can just set it up and--”

“I don’t want to relive the past. Going through it once is enough.”

Her arms tightened around her chest. “Right. Well, you can also peek into your future or spy on someone else.

“I’ll consider it,” he said, pulling more of the blankets over his legs. “Maybe you just slept longer because you weren’t sleeping on the floor.”

“…Maybe.”

Jyn turned to the kitchen to get a start on a very late breakfast, and Kay entered with a mouthful of flowers Cassian didn’t recognize. Thankfully, neither of them brought up scrying or his past again. He shrank back under the covers and made sure that his belt was still snuggly hidden between the bed and the wall. After breakfast, Jyn left Cassian under Kay’s watchful eye, and returned a couple of hours later with a new pair of crutches for Cassian (although he wasn’t planning on using them until he had clothes to wear around her).

That night, they fell asleep side by side again, and didn’t mention the lullaby.

* * *

Over the next few days, Jyn was always the first to rise to make breakfast, but he was gradually getting up earlier and earlier. When she left for town he puttered around the cottage on his crutches, gradually getting stronger while he planned his next move. He had the tools to subdue her in her sleep--pinning a talisman over her heart would freeze her long enough to bind her hands together with the blessed rope. The familiar he would poison or skewer with his dagger, then he would hobble back to town and hire a coach to ride all the way back to the king. He had done it before, dozens of times. He never forgot the murderous glares of the witches when they realized his betrayal.

But for Jyn to look at him like that…

It might be easier, then, to stab her in the heart with his dagger and claim to the king that he had no other choice. He could do it fast, but already he imagined her eyes flying open and glittering with tears in the moonlight as her life poured out into his hands.

Both options riddled his sleep with nightmares, despite the bag of anise Jyn had placed under his pillow. He couldn’t leave empty handed, and he couldn’t stay here either. Even if she never found out about who he really was, the weight of the lie and the pressure of guilt was already eating away at his sanity like aphids on a leaf. 

By the end of the week, Jyn brought him his new clothes, and he felt comfortable going outside with her while she tended her herb garden in front of the cottage. He noticed, not for the first time, the way the light reflected off her crystal necklace, and one morning felt bold enough to ask her about it.

“Oh, it was my mother’s,” she said. “She gave it to me, as my grandmother gave it to her. I know she would want me to pass it down to my children, but…”

“You don’t want children?” 

“Do you?”

He felt his face go hot. “I can barely support myself, much less a child.”

“What if you had stable work and could see your children as often as you liked?”

“Is that what you’re offering?” He tried to keep his tone light, despite the way his heart was pounding.

Her cheeks flushed red but she didn’t look away. “Don’t flatter yourself, Joreth.”

He chuckled, but looked away from her to pick at the grass. “I would like to have children, but I’d want them to grow up in a better world.”

“Me too.”

He wanted to ask that better world looked like to her, but wisely held his tongue. Her truth would only add to his guilt. It was hard enough watching her weed the garden while she was completely oblivious to the monster he truly was.

“So, what other rumors have you’ve heard about me?” Jyn said as she twisted out a particularly stubborn weed.

“I know that you help the women. And that you turned men into pigs.”

She grunted and leaned back on her heels, “I only did that once. I had been abandoned by my mentor when I was sixteen and a... friend and his mother brought me into their home. Witch hunters found us, killed my friend and his mother, and I turned the hunters into pigs.”

A chill prickled down his neck.

“You didn’t _ eat _ the pigs, did you?”

She gave a grim laugh at that. 

“No, I let them loose. But I went to live in the woods alone after that. Safer for everyone that way.” Her smile faded when she looked at him. “My parents lived too close to town, they invited people to their home, and they fought against the witch hunters with my mentor. Now they’re dead and I don’t– I just want to live, Joreth.”

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand and returned to the weeds. Cassian found himself reaching out to her, but he curled his fingers back and gripped the yellowing grass. What right did he have to comfort her when he would have her killed as well?

Or would he? Was there another way? He remembered her offer to scrye, and although he had no intention of reliving his past, he desperately needed a glimpse into his future to know what was the right choice. 

“I know what you mean. My father died in a protest against the king, and my mother was imprisoned, and is probably dead now.” He carefully unpacked his own buried emotions and felt his eyes water. “I wish they chose to stay alive. I wish I could see them again before everything went to shit.”

She looked at him, her eyes red-rimmed. “Well, the moon is supposed to be full tonight, the best conditions for a scrying ceremony.”

He carefully smiled. “I’ll give it a try.”

* * *

Later that night, Jyn extinguished every flame, opened the windows, and used mirrors to bend the moonlight into the pewter bowl of water. She had explained to him that the moonlight would allow him to move in the past and the future, but as he was inexperienced, it could go either way. The uncertainty made him uneasy, so he decided that if was only allowed to see the past, then he would bring Jyn to the king. Jyn sat across from him and they linked hands like she was a magical conduit. He tried to keep his face blank, but his hands twitched in hers as he tried to quell the growing anxiety over using witch magic to solve his problem.

“If it gets too intense, let go of my hands, and the scrying will stop,” Jyn said.

Cassian only nodded. Jyn closed her eyes and let out a long breath.

“Look into the mirror,” she instructed, “and try to focus on what you want to see.”

Cassian closed his eyes and he put all of his focus on Jyn, on the future, on what must be, then opened his eyes and looked into the water.

***

He recognized the snowy mountains of his childhood home, but they were far away from the village. Damnit, he had gone into the past. Maybe he should try again– his attention was suddenly drawn to his mother walking up the mountain. He followed her like an invisible bird, almost hoping his eyes were deceiving him, but that was undoubtedly his mother -- paler and thinner than he remembered. She was young, probably no more than eighteen or nineteen. A bright red fox followed just behind her. Cassian noticed that neither his mother nor the fox, strangely enough, left any footprints behind.

He watched his mother walk to a stone cottage that looked like it had been carved out of the side of the mountain. She entered without knocking, its one room lit only by the fire on the hearth. Sitting on her knees was a woman with silver laced in her long, dark curls. Thin wrinkles lined her strong jaw and stretched over her high cheekbones, but the early signs of age didn’t diminish her intimidating presence.

She looked up at his mother with her flint-gray eyes, grunted a welcome, then returned her attention to the pile of bones on a chalk circle-- Cassian’s stomach flipped. What was his mother doing with a bone witch? The goat sitting by the old woman rose its head and sniffed the air as his mother and the fox approached.

“I know what you want,” the older woman growled, “but I will not give it to you.”

“What is it I want?” his mother asked.

“Bondage,” the witch spat. “Disgraceful. I raised you better.”

_ Raised _? Was his mother enslaved to the old wicked witch?

“It’s what will make me happy, Mamá. Don’t you want me to be happy?”

Cassian couldn’t breathe. No… no this… she couldn’t be--

“Of course I want you to be happy, but binding your power will not bring you happiness. Even if you never cast another spell in your life, you will never be like the others, mija. They will never accept you.”

Her mother’s cheeks flushed red and she curled her hands into fists behind her back. 

“You’re wrong. You never leave this hole and meet with other people. You just sit and play with your bones and let the world pass you by. I’ve been there, I’ve know--”

Suddenly the witch cackled. “Ah, to be young and stupid again. I know you’re lonely, child. Just take that man’s seed and you won’t be bored or lonely for a long while.”

“He asked me to stay with him, Mamá. He wants to marry me.”

“Then marry him and bring him up here. He can be your pet for as long as you like.”

“I want to stay in _ his _ house. It feels like how a home should be.”

“And how should a home be? You think that staying home all day with a litter of brats while he wears himself ragged and sleeps with half the village will make you happy? And all of that without magic?”

“It’s the life I want.”

“It’s a life you’ll regret,” the bone witch hissed. “I won’t stop you, but I won’t bind your powers either.”

Tears welled up in his mother’s eyes. “If you don’t, then you will never see your grandchildren.”

“Don’t lie. Even if I were to bind you, you will never bring him here.” The witch --his grandmother? -- grinned when his mother flinched. “This will be the last time we speak, so do not forget what I tell you: you will only have one son and the pattern of bone, blood, and breath shall continue. It will be a hard pregnancy, so do not exhaust yourself. He will--”

“I will bind his powers before he even knows that he has them,” his mother said, her voice cracking with bitterness. “I will never use magic again. We will live a normal life. He will never know your name.”

Before the bone witch could say another word, his mother stormed out of the cottage and down the mountainside. The fox trotted behind her until she pivoted on her heel to face it.

“I release you from my service, Nyx,” she ordered.

The fox’s jaw dropped. “But Celia--”

Any shred of doubt that Cassian may have had was immediately shattered. This _ was _ his mother, which meant that the bone witch was his grandmother, which could only mean that…

He blinked and the scene completely changed to some brief summer on the mountain. His mother walked along the path of moonlight in the evergreen forest with a bundle in her arms. She looked a few years older, closer to how he remembered her when he was growing up. He watched in awe and anguish as his mother sat at the center of a ring of trees and laid the bundle on a knot of exposed roots. Pebbles slowly rose around them and hovered and dipped like drunken birds. His mother flicked one of the pebbles away when it had zoomed down towards her head, then untied the cloth and cooed at the newborn infant that flailed his chubby arms and legs in the air.

He knew that the baby was him. It could only be him. His stomach still flipped with shock when his mother took a needle out of her sleeve, caught one of his arms, and said, “This will only hurt a little, Cassian.”

His infant self shrieked when she pricked his wrists with the needle. More pebbles flew and zoomed in the air, and the roots beneath them pulled themselves against the earth. She pinned the needle back in her sleeve, then pinched at the wounds until she pulled out two threads of blood. She chanted a slow, somber song in a language he had never heard of while she twisted the threads of blood around his tiny wrists and knotted them together. He felt the sting of tears in his eyes just from hearing her sing to him again, even if it was a spell that had locked away the greatest secret about himself.

When his mother finished her chant, the blood threads tightened around his little wrists and seeped into his skin. She wrapped her infant up again and shushed him as she rocked him on her shoulder, the pebbles falling to the ground around them.

“I know, I’m sorry baby, that’s all we had to do,” she said, then let out a relieved sigh. “At last, you’re safe.”

The nearby brush stirred, and to Cassian’s surprise the fox stepped through and approached his mother. 

“So this is the little tyke?” he asked in a low, whispery voice.

His mother lowered her infant down so the familiar could sniff at him. His infant self still whimpered, but his hand reached out and grabbed at a tuft of silver fur on the side of the fox’s thick neck.

“His name is Cassian,” his mother said. “Have you found a new witch?”

Nyx dug his black nose in the baby’s belly and snuffled,“I’m going through a list of candidates.”

“I freed you five years now.”

“I’m well aware of that.”

“Neither I nor Cassian need a familiar.”

“I figured that as well,” Nyx said, pulling away from the infant’s grip. “Are you actually happy, leaving it all behind?”

His mother lifted her baby over her shoulder, then tucked her chin over his.

“I have a family now,” she murmured, “and friends. I even work at a tea shop on the weekends. It’s hard work but I’m happier with this than wasting my life on that mountain top.”

The black lips of the fox curled up into something like a smile, and the landscape changed again to something horrifyingly familiar: his home. He was five years old but she cradled him in her arms, singing the lullaby softly as she rocked him.

His child-self tried to bury himself in his mother’s belly, his face flushed from a fever that had slowly burned hotter over the week. His mother had tried the usual remedies of cool baths and medicines bought at the apothecaries. Nothing had worked. Dark bags hung under his mother’s eyes after several sleepless nights of trying to heal him the conventional way. She laid him on the couch and kissed his sweaty forehead. 

“No one will think it’s strange,” she mumbled under her breath as her shaking hands reached for her shawl. “I’ll say it’s tea, I’m just making tea. Nothing wrong with making tea.”

“No,” present Cassian whispered, his throat burning. 

He followed her as she hurried out of the house and into the muddy, frigid streets and to the market place. She hovered by herbs, her thin hand pinching her shawl closed. She hovered over the fresh stalks of ginger when a stark shadow of a man approached her at her side. She paid him no mind until he held out a yellow chrysanthemum. She turned and looked up at the face that Cassian had seen stalking along the castle’s halls alongside Palpatine -- Wilhuff Tarkin. Though he was the king’s closest advisor now, in his younger years he was known as a cunning witch hunter.

He was also the man that trained Cassian as a witch hunter. 

“For the lady,” Tarkin murmured, offering her the flower. “Terrible pity that your son is so ill. Nothing like a little ginger to help with Cassian’s cough.”

His mother’s eyes widened and Tarkin pinned a talisman over her breast. She stood frozen while he cinched her wrists together with a length of blessed rope. He threw his cloak over her and growled something in her ear, then spirited her out of the market.

“No!” Cassian yelled.

He tried to follow her, but the crowds were too thick to see where she went. What would it matter now? This was only a memory, a memory that still seared his heart. He remembered waiting hours and hours for her to return, only for his father to return home first and not understand why she wasn’t there. Later they would learn that she had been arrested--oh God, did his father know? Did he know and not tell Cassian? Or did he know who she truly was and, like her bonding spell, trying to protect him?

***

He blinked and he was in the cottage again, Jyn’s hands gripping his. He looked down at the bottom of the pewter bowl. He looked up and was caught in Jyn’s hard stare.

“Joreth, what did you see?”

He inhaled deeply to try and calm himself, but the truth of it all made him cry out, “Oh God. Oh God!”

Cassian broke free of Jyn’s grip and stumbled out of the cottage and into the cold, brittle night air. 


	5. Chapter 5

_ “Wake up, Jyn.” _

Cassian’s voice reeled her back to consciousness and left her hovering, unable to open her eyes and completely break the spell-woven sleep. Anchored by his forehead, the bristles of his beard scratched against her cheek.

Jyn eventually woke up warm and snuggled up to his bare chest, his arms braced around her so she didn’t fall. The morning light fully draped over his face, his dark eyes brightened to the color of cinnamon. Not the ethereal amber crescents from last night, but a depthness that could only be revealed in sunlight. Cassian’s gaze locked with hers, his brow bent with concern. He didn’t say a word and yet she was entranced by his gaze. She wanted to always be held like this. She wanted him to lean down and kiss her. She didn’t want to leave this bed for the rest of the day, she---

She shifted just a hair and suddenly her bladder screamed with the need to relieve itself, and the enchantment was at last broken. 

Breathing in the crisp morning air while she pissed in the chamberpot in her front yard gave her time to come to her senses. Cassian was hiding something more than just his name. She remembered how she felt as they sang together, the amber streaks in Cassian’s eyes--there was magic in him. Maybe he was an incredibly gifted wizard that could hide his magic even when he was near death, but the type of injuries he sustained were physical, not magical. He would have been able to prevent or at least heal them easily enough if he was  _ that _ powerful. 

Maybe he was born to a wizard father and a mortal mother, so his magic would be very weak, so weak she wouldn’t detect it. But his  _ mother _ knew about the sleeping spell. He didn’t say anything about his father knowing it. Which meant that his mother was most likely a witch. He had to be a wizard. She would have sensed his magic when he was at his weakest, but she hadn’t and she still didn’t, so why--

No, it couldn’t be.

But it could.

There was only one spell she knew that could hide magic that effectively.

Jyn nearly pitched forward onto the grass when she realized that Cassian might be bonded. She staggered up on her feet instead, thunderstruck. She knew how the bonding spell worked--anyone could do it, but the closer to blood the stronger the spell. For a bond so strong that Jyn didn’t even detect it… Gods, had his mother bonded him? Considering that many wizards Jyn knew of worked as witch hunters, she probably did it to protect herself. How old was he? Did his mother even tell him that he robbed him of his powers for her own benefit?

Jyn wobbled back towards the front door, hungry for answers. She eyed him from the tips of his mussed hair to his toes that peeked from under the quilts, but couldn’t see even a whisp of magic off of him. He stared back at her, and she could sense his unease from across the room.

“Are you sure you’re not a wizard?” she grumbled.

His eyes were dark again. “Positive.”

_ Liar.  _ He was hiding the truth from her. While Cassian was napping later that afternoon, she took Kay behind the cottage to confess her thoughts.

“Bonded? Are you sure?” Kay asked.

“I will once I get him to scrye. I think it may be a mother-bond, which is why we haven’t seen it before. Only scrying will reveal a secret that hidden.”

“And the chances of him scrying are distressingly low. He doesn’t trust either of us. Do you think that is why he is wary of us and witchcraft? Considering what his own mother has done to him?”

“Probably.”

Kay’s tail smacked hard against the ground. “If he is mother-bonded, there’s nothing we can do about it.”

And that was the cruel truth of it: only Cassian’s mother could break the bond, and she was imprisoned (most likely dead at this point). Jyn nodded with Kay and dropped the subject, because what was the point of unearthing such a painful secret when she couldn’t break the spell? If he knew about the bond and wanted to break it, surely he would have asked for her help by now. Since he hadn’t asked, that meant he either didn’t want it broken or he didn’t know.

As Cassian recovered, she tried to tamp down her desire to verify the truth by learning about the man himself.

“You never told me what you did for work, Joreth,” she said one morning at breakfast, when they were both sitting at the dining table.

Cassian took a long time chewing his eggs before he answered.

“Repair work.”

“Like what?”

“Anything around the house, like holes in a tea kettle or a broken wagon axle.”

“I use magic to fix things.” 

_ Because my mother didn’t bind my magic. _

“I figured,” he chuckled.

“It doesn’t always last though. I had to get a new cauldron because holes kept burning through the bottom.”

Cassian answered her probing questions simply and without giving too much information. He grew up in a mountain village with a name she couldn’t pronounce very well. His work let him travel to a new city whenever he wanted a change of scenery. He used to have a pet cat as a child. She wanted to ask about his family but resisted, fearing that it would make him suspicious. 

He seemed more at ease around her when his clothes were finished, but at night she was beginning to wake up to him tossing and turning. At first she curled closer to him until he stilled, but one night he jabbed his elbow between her breasts.

“Ow!” she cried out, then commanded the fireplace to light. “Joreth! Joreth wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”

His eyes opened wide, glittering in the murky firelight. Jyn pulled out the anise pillow and inspected it with her fingers--she didn’t feel any holes, no seed trying to wiggle its way out.

“Sorry,” he panted.

“Your nightmares must be pretty bad if the anise can’t banish them.”

She settled on her side and listened to him breathe long, ragged breaths. She curled her fingers over his clothed shoulder. He stared at her, his gaze fierce and fearful, and she wanted to just close the few inches of distance between them and kiss him. 

Jyn turned her head and pressed her lips against the pillow instead, and waited for his breathing to slow.

“When I was fifteen, my friends and I went out to the lake. I didn’t know how to swim at the time, so I told them that I would just stay on the dock. They shoved me in the water anyway.”

She gripped his shoulder. “That’s awful.”

“Sometimes I have nightmares of drowning, and it feels real.” His stare softened, and his eyes were half-hidden by his lashes. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”

“It’s all right.”

She asked for the fireplace to go out and darkness flooded the room again. Jyn settled back down again, her nose brushing against the back of her hand that still clung to Cassian’s shoulder, and closed her eyes. Rain soon began to plink over her roof, but it was a softer rain than a few days ago. Soon it would be snowing, and Jyn needed to finish preparing her herb garden and stock up on food and drink for the winter.

“Kestral.”

“Hm?”

“Why did you bring me here?”

Jyn opened her eyes and craned her head up to look at him, but she couldn’t even see an outline of his face.

“That’s a stupid question,” she answered.

“You could have left me there, or put me back on the road, but you brought me here instead.”

“You would have died if I didn’t bring you here. You died when you were here.”

“What?”

“You stopped breathing.”

“Then why did you revive me?”

Her initial shock quickly twisted to anger. 

“Should I not have saved you, Joreth?”

Her voice broke midway and she hated how she sounded more hurt than angry. Suddenly she felt the prickle of his beard on her knuckles and the whisper of his breath on her face. Her anger softened from his touch, but she growled, “Do you think I saved you for a blood ritual or to bake you in an oven or whatever fairy tale you learned everything about witches from?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Never saw myself as someone worth being saved.”

_ Of course you are, _ she wanted to say, but bit her cheek instead. He had barely known her a week. What did it matter what she thought?

“Your friends saved you,” she offered.

He huffed a weak laugh. “I think they were more upset about getting into trouble.”

He laughed again, stronger and with more bitterness behind it. Jyn couldn’t even force a smile. He had been tossed aside enough times that he had come to believe that he deserved it. But how could she help with such a wound when she was still picking at hers?

She still nursed the pain from when Saw abandoned her in the woods all those years ago, leaving her to wander at only sixteen. She lived with him since she fled from her childhood home. The gruff wizard had warned her time and time again to trust no one but herself, and he proved it by instructing her to stay hidden in their encampment under the redwood trees and never coming back. She feared that he had been captured and killed by Palpatine, but over the years she heard that he had left the country with a small troop of wizards and witches. Rumors of treason and cowardice floated along conversation over beer and wine. 

She shouldn’t have cared, but she did. She trusted him, and he burned her. He probably would have hoped that she learned her lesson from the disaster with Hadder Ponta, but she felt a spark of rebellion ignite in her gut.

Gripping his sleeve, Jyn let herself trust Cassian.

“You’re worth being saved, Joreth.”

Jyn waited for an answer or an argument, but as the minutes passed her eyelids drooped. His slow, even breath fluttered in her hair. His hand searched for hers on his shoulder. He froze when his knuckles bumped against her mouth, but she rested her cheek on his fingers. His hand was so warm, and he squeezed so tight, like he wanted to imprint his thoughts into her skin. She felt him shift gradually in bed and press his cheek against her forehead.

She fell asleep warm and safe as the storm howled overhead, and woke up to the soft pitter-patter of rain, Cassian still holding her hand while he slept. He had shifted in the night, and clutched her hand over his heart.

* * *

Cassian was healing well, though he still needed crutches to move around the cottage. He followed her out in the front while she tended to her herb garden and slowly began to open up to her. More surprisingly, she found herself more open to him.

On that fateful afternoon when he finally decided to scrye, she hadn’t expected the subject of Hadder Ponta to come up. She couldn’t bear to say his name, even though it had been years since he died. 

She had been wandering from town to town since her mentor, Saw, had abandoned her. Hadder’s mother, Akshaya, sought her out in need of witch’s magic to heal her cow’s udders in exchange for food. Akshaya’s son, Hadder, was incredibly impressed and hoped to see more magic. Jyn ended up staying with the Pontas, healing and fixing what she could. She was charmed by Hadder’s sweet nature, and surprised him by bewitching his mother’s broom so it could fly.

That had been their downfall: even though Jyn and Hadder flew on the broom in the dead of night, someone had spotted and reported them to a gang of novice witch hunters looking to add some experience under their belts. They were not the king’s wizards, but normal men with tools blessed by a local priest and a righteous zeal. They broke into the Pontas’ home while Jyn had gone to gather herbs, killed Hadder and Akshaya, and laid in wait for her.

Jyn never regretted turning those men into pigs, but she did regret that Hadder and Akshaya died because of her. She couldn’t shake the feeling that the longer that Cassian stayed here, the higher chance of him being killed because of her.

Cassian wished that he could see his parents again, and she remembered that tonight would be a full moon, the perfect time to scrye. While he looked into his past, she could try to sneak a peek into his future. Maybe she would have to let him go or, if the bond revealed itself, maybe he would want to stay. Only the moon knew their fates.

* * *

Scrying was simple magic. With a pewter bowl full of water and the light of the full moon, she could see into her past, present, and future. If the moon wasn’t available, she could still peek through mirrors and keep an eye on any potential threats.

With Cassian she needed to hold his hands and let him use her as a conduit. She told him to focus on what he wished to see, and when he opened his eyes the pewter bowl glowed, drenching Cassian’s face in its silvery light. Jyn looked down at the bowl but could only see Cassian’s reflection. 

Jyn chanted low in the Old Language:

_ Reveal his truth to me, Bountiful Maiden _

_ Reveal his truth to me, Mother Moon _

_ Reveal his truth to me, Wise Crone _

A red ray of light emerged from between his wrists, snapping and hissing with furious energy. Jyn’s mouth fell open in horror. The bond was thick and strong, and though it was only an illusion she was seeing, she could tell that it was woven blood, something only blood witches were capable of. Her stomach turned at the thought that his mother, unsatisfied with the strength of a mother bond, would fortify the chain with his own blood. 

Looking closer, Jyn saw a splinter of light try to pull itself away from the rest of the bond. That tiny bit of leeway explained how he was able to cast the sleeping spell, and his magic must be formidable if his spell had such an effect on her.

She tried to peek into the bowl and see what he was watching, but the light was so bright that she had to look away. Cassian still stared down, unblinking, the moonlight washing out all color from his face. He stared entranced by the vision, indicating how he felt from squeezing Jyn’s hand tighter and tighter until she whimpered.

Suddenly, the light went out. The bond disappeared. His grip went slack.

Cassian blinked, then looked up at her.

“Joreth, what did you see?” she asked.

His stone-cold mask shattered and he yanked his hands away from her.

“Oh God. Oh God!”

He leapt out of his chair and staggered into the night. Jyn followed him, but he didn’t get far. He stumbled over his feet and collapsed in the soggy earth by her herb garden. Kaytu reached him first as Cassian pushed himself up on shaking arms, trying to suck in air but choking on it instead. Jyn dropped to her knees next to him, but he waved an arm at her to keep her away. Jyn held back and watched as he struggled to finally breathe again.

Cassian cried out in gasped in pain as he sat up. Jyn gripped at her collar to resist the urge to touch him when he clearly didn’t want to. She glanced at Kaytu and silently gestured that he return to the cabin. The familiar flattened his ears, but bounded back into the cabin. 

Jyn turned her attention to Cassian, who looked up at the moon and scowled.

“Joreth?” she whispered.

He whipped his attention back to Jyn, making her jump.

“Is what I saw--was it true?” he demanded.

“It only shows the truth. What did you see?”

“I saw my mother. She was visiting her mother– my grandmother, who I have never seen before, because my grandmother turned out to be the bone witch that lived near my village.”

“So your mother is…?"

“Was also a witch. She was asking my grandmother to bind her powers, and I didn’t understand what that meant until I saw my mother bind mine.”

He raked his fingers through his hair and held on as if it would keep him from falling apart.

“You didn’t know that you were a wizard?”

“No!” He shouted. Jyn flinched, and he lowered his voice, “No, I had no idea. Did you know? Does everyone know I’m a wizard and I’m just blind to it?”

“I suspected after the sleeping spell, but I didn’t know if--”

“I had no idea.” He let his hands slip out of his hair and fall to his sides. “How could I cast spells if my magic is bonded?”

“When you were scrying, I saw that it was frayed a little. It’s that fray that allowed you to do a little magic, even if it was by accident. I’m not sure if it will fray much more, however. Since it’s both a blood bond and a mother bond. Why did your mother bind you?”

“To protect me.” He blinked, and his eyes glittered with unshed tears. “She put the spell on me when I was an infant. My father was mortal, and no one said anything about what I am. She was trying to protect me, but the king’s guard found her. They took her.”

He looked away from Jyn, and Jyn stared down at the patch of grass between them, trying not listen to his sniffles.

“I’m sorry, Joreth.”

“My name isn’t Joreth,” he said, turning to her and wiping his eyes. “It’s Cassian. Cassian Andor.”

“I’m Jyn Erso.”

Cassian’s shoulders started to tremble, and Jyn’s eyes and nose burned from the crisp, cold air. Cautiously, she moved next to him until her shoulder leaned against his. Between the two of them they shared a bit of warmth, but Jyn started to shiver despite the layers of skirts she wore. Cassian’s wet pants clung to his skin.

“I need to start over, Jyn,” he said, his voice rumbling against her ribs, “I thought I was making a better world before but I...I trusted the wrong people. I’ve done terrible things for terrible people who convinced me of their cause.”

He looked at her with tear-weary eyes, the moonlight silvering the edges of his hair. He smiled at her, shy and small, and she felt her breath stutter, but that didn’t stop the questions bubbling on her tongue -- what exactly had he done? For which people? And for what cause? There were a lot of awful people in the world with their own horrendous ideas, not just witch hunters. Given the time and space to heal, maybe Cassian would be able to tell her exactly who. 

“You can start over here,” she said. “This place is well protected, and you can stay for as long as you need to so you can get back on your feet.”

Cassian wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand. His smile had returned, bright with moonglow, and Jyn could stare at it all night.

He said, “You’ve done so much for me, and you barely know me. You saved my life.”

His face was starting to blur through her own veil of tears, but she felt the tip of his nose bump up against hers. She blinked and he was there, and his lips were so close that she could nearly taste  them.

“You saved my life,” he murmured, then closed what little space there was between them.

The first kiss was seismic -- the crush of two continents that slam into each other so hard that the effect is felt for miles. Teeth clanged against teeth and they tilted their heads this way and that so their noses weren’t in the way of the closeness they chased. Jyn grabbed him by the collar and his arms braced over her shoulders, pressing her flush against him. Their clothes were barely a cushion for the hard crystal Jyn wore, and the gem bit into their skin until they pulled away to breathe.

The second kiss had the rhythm of the moon and tides. Jyn gave as well as took, and she was completely enveloped by Cassian. He cupped her cheek and steadied her as he gave and gave and gave until she nearly drowned from his affection. Her body slumped against him and she clutched at his shirt to keep herself afloat.

“Jyn,” Cassian panted when they broke apart for air.

“I’m here.”

A cold wind cut through them. Shivering, they clung to each other as they staggered back into the cottage.

Fire bloomed from the hearth, and by its light Jyn and Cassian found the bed. Jyn snarled as she shucked off each layer of clothing soaked with dew and sweat. Cassian yanked his shirt over his head and froze when he beheld her, his lips slightly parted. Suddenly she felt shy and wanted to try and hide her nakedness, but she forced her hands to stay at their sides.

“Well?”

He licked his lips. “I don’t deserve you.”

She stepped forward, standing between his legs still trapped in cloth. She hovered her lips over his, her fingers teasing at his belt buckle.

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

The third kiss came later, when she was on top of him and glowing with heat. She tossed her head back, trying to breathe as her core burned hotter and hotter. She was close, but not quite there, and she didn’t know what she needed--

“Jyn,” Cassian begged.

He shifted under her, gently leaning up until kissed the hollow of her neck, and she erupted.

Jyn fought to stay awake while Cassian kissed her the fourth time, his breath cool as it fluttered over her skin. He paused at her nipple, his beard tickling the sensitive spot. A sleepy giggle escaped her lips.

“We need to get you cleaned up,” he said, kissing her cheek. “I made a mess.”

She laughed again, still drifting towards sleep. Her legs were weightless and would wobble if she tried to stand up now. Better to sleep, better to dream, and she would worry about everything in morning. Right now, she was with a man she might be in love with, and maybe he loved her too, and maybe he would stay.

She hoped he would stay.

**Author's Note:**

> Challenging myself to finish this by Halloween because I have too many WIPs lol. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy this and gets you in the holiday spirit!


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